


the love in this house

by capebretons



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 03:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8356108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capebretons/pseuds/capebretons
Summary: They come back to Oakville when it all gets to be a bit too much.





	

John sleeps like the dead in the off-season. Sometimes, Sam will just watch him, back rising and falling with each breath on their shared mattress. He sleeps naked, with their white sheets pooled just below his waist, the jut of his hip barely visible.

It always takes him a few weeks to get used to sharing a bed again. Sam tends to starfish, if Sam's being honest, and Sam lets the dog sleep with him. He plays music, sometimes, and other times, Law and Order drones on their television until he slips.

John never likes that. He likes to talk until his eyes are too heavy to keep open, until he falls asleep in the middle of sentences. And then it's impossible to wake him up. They buy an industrial, utilitarian alarm clock at Ikea. It's super fucking loud, and John always forgets to turn it off after he leaves again, so Sam wakes up with like, nuclear-emergency sirens the day after John goes back to New York. Sam wakes up alone, and packs for Columbus.

And Sam's gotten used to it. Sam knows it's not what either of them would choose, but it's a matter of circumstance. John's got his place in Long Island, Sam's got his in Columbus, and they go home to Oakville in the summer. Sam's summers always start earlier than John's do, because of the playoffs. Then the season's done by early June, so Sam's got a couple of weeks.

It's fun, when he's in New York for games. He loves seeing John with his team. He looks much younger.

John doesn't sleep so hard during the season. It's a lot of pressure to just put away for the night. Sam gets that. So Sam does what he can - he puts on a Will Ferrell movie, rubs his shoulders, and tells him about what Zach Werenski said during practice that day. It helps, most nights. Sam sees the hardness of John melt off, and his head will loll onto Sam's shoulder, and then he'll be quiet for awhile.

John sleeps, but he talks when he sleeps. It's the stuff of dreams,  _ no, I don't want any peanutbutter,  _ and  _ I'm pretty sure they don't sell gorillas here _ , but a lot of the time it's about Sam.  _ Blue looks nice on you. I like your ears. Kiss me.  _ So when he wakes up, Sam wear a navy pol and a baseball cap with his ears peeking out, and he'll kiss John before he's had his morning coffee. Sam loves it when he talks in his sleep, he loves it when he's restless.

But John usually has a game or a bus to catch on those mornings. So really, Sam's come to prefer it when he doesn't talk at all, when all he knows in two-a.m.-light is the rise and fall of John's chest, and Sam knows he has him tomorrow.

Sam almost doesn't realize he's doing it, but he leans down and kisses John's bare shoulder. It won't wake him. He wouldn't have done it if it would. John has a big day tomorrow.

Free agency.

 

The alarm's not set for the next morning, so they wake up on their own. Sam's head is shoved into his pillow, but he has an arm thrown across John's chest, and a knee slotted between his. He always seems to be clutching at John when they wake up, all of his limbs octopused around him. John always looks a little pleased about it.

It's a little after ten, and John's up first, texting somebody. Sam fights the urge to bat his phone away, because this might be him waking up to find himself traded to the Oilers.

"Any news?" he asks, his voice rough.

John shakes his head. "Nothing yet. Probably not until this afternoon."

Sam nods, thoughtful. "You want to make waffles?"

 

John does. This isn't shocking to Sam. John has an almost Leslie-Knope-love for breakfast foods, despite having altogether very little knowledge of how to make breakfast food. He helps, though, getting ingredients out and providing some of the only company Sam would accept in the kitchen.

"Where do you want me to go?" John asks Sam, for the four-millionth time.

"John," Sam says, shooting him a look as he stirs the batter. "No. This isn't about me."

"It's a little about you," John retorts, too quick for someone who's only been up for an hour. "Seeing as you're, you know, my husband."

Sam shrugs. "Only legally."

John shoots Sam a grin, and Sam returns it, because that's bullshit and they both know it.

Their wedding day, on both of their accounts, was the Best Day Ever. It was in a great cathedral in Toronto, and Sam wore the nicest grey suit, and John wore a navy suit, and both of their moms cried at John's vows. As did the Islanders, and Steven Stamkos, and P.K. It wasn't their fault - his vows were  _ amazing.  _

_ You are the most selfless, kind, beautiful person I've ever met. I want to spend the rest of my life trying to be good enough for you. You are all of the best parts of me. You are so amazing. I sat down to try and write vows, I tried to write about how I will always be there to kill the spiders and kiss your forehead and listen to you laugh, but I just kept writing down the word  _ amazing.  _ You are amazing. I'm amazed that somehow, I got lucky enough to know you. I'm amazed I got lucky enough to be the one you picked. I won't let you down. I will kill the spiders and kiss your forehead and listen to you laugh, and I will always be amazed at you. Thank you for settling for me. I love you so much. Thank you. _

Sam drank so much champagne that he refused to leave John's lap at dinner. John didn't mind. He held Sam's hand the whole night.

 

They walk the dog around the block after breakfast. Wrangler was John's dog initially, the first thing he bought with his draft money. Sam didn't meet him until five years later, when he was barely into the NHL, after seeing John back in Oakville for the summer, the first time home since they were both kids.

John proposed to Sam exactly a year later. It was a Tuesday. They'd just bought their own Oakville house, and Sam was trying to decide between two curtain samples he had not realized were identical. John got down on one knee. He'd called Sam's dad for permission, because John is old and funnier than he should be. They were both crying, overflowing and happy, when Sam said yes. Wrangler licked their faces.

"Just tell me," John says. "Where do you want me?"

"I want you where you're happy," Sam shrugs, and they both watch as Wrangler sniffs at a flower. This dog is picturesque.

"Things would be easier, if I was closer."

Sam nods.

They don't talk about the bad days. Because there are days, sometimes, that Sam just  _ needs  _ John. They don't have to be particularly terrible days, overall. Sometimes they're perfectly fine days, and Sam's making himself a glass of water before bed, and he's suddenly thinking about how nice it would have been to have dinner with his husband for the first time in a month.

Sam knows John has bad days, too. When he has bad days, he books flights. Any time he has two days off in a row, he's on a plane to Columbus. When Sam has long weekends, he's over to New York. And when John sees him at the airport, Sam sees just how tired he looks, but just how happy he is.

 

They're co-dependent in the summer. They know that. 

Every single meal, Sam sits in his lap. They hold hands more often than not. They shower together, sleep together, and right now, they're swimming together. Sam's tanning on a giant float shaped like a swan, and John's swimming laps.

John's phone is set just by the edge of the pool, out of harm's way but close enough for him to hear if his agent calls. 

He comes up for air just an inch from Sam's face. "I want to be closer."

"You know I'm not making this decision for you," Sam says idly.

"Would you move to New York?" He asks, and. Well. He's never asked that before.

"I don't think I could play hockey in New York," Sam says softly, his eyes on John's.

"Yeah, but," he nods, considering. "You said you'd quit when we had our baby."

Sam likes that he says  _ our baby _ . "I would," Sam agrees. "But we don't have a baby, John."

He frowns, petulant. "Not yet."

Sam can't help but grin at him, reaching out to run his fingers through his hair and tug, once.

 

They make lunch and eat on the deck. John gets a phone call just as he takes a giant bite of his sandwich, and it makes Sam laugh harder than what's strictly necessary as he ducks inside.

He's on the phone for a long time, and when he comes back, he looks tired. "So."

Sam's chest drops, but his smile doesn't, on purpose. "What's the verdict?"

"I want my salary to be nine mil," John says, and yeah, Sam knew that. "And five teams are offering. The Preds, the Sharks, the Lightning, the Flyers, and the Islanders."

Sam knew, really, that the Blue Jackets would never have been an option. And even if they were, what would John do in Columbus, with a coach he hates and a team he doesn't know? You only get a few good things in life, Sam believes that, and John being his husband is more than he deserves. He didn't... Well, it would have been nice, if John could be his teammate. But he didn't have to be.

"Okay," Sam nods, after a beat. "Let's think."

 

All of John's hypothetics start with Sam and with their baby. Sam will allow that. Sam actually kind of likes that, in a really non-hypothetical way - the idea of their adoption process starting by the first game of the season. Yeah, Sam will miss hockey, but Sam would have their baby and he'd have  _ John _ , in a way he's not allowed to have him eight months out of the year. The idea of Johm coming home to Sam every day is something like magic to him.

So they have a baby, and Sam's with John, and they go to Nashville. John plays with Neal and Forsberg. He'll make it to the playoffs more than once. There might even be a cup. And he'll have P.K. That's going to be great.

So they have a baby, and Sam's with John, and they go to San Jose. He plays with Couture and Pavelski. John doesn't have a lot of friends on San Jose. That would suck. San Jose is out.

So they have a baby, and Sam's with John, and they go to Tampa. John plays with whoever, but what matters is Stamkos. They'll be electric together. Two Good Canadian Boys Who Made It Big And Are Best Friends To This Day is a narrative everybody loves. And they might even get a cup.

There's no cup when it comes to Philadelphia. John likes Claude well enough, but Philadelphia sucks, and as long as Giroux wears that C, John's not getting anywhere  _ near  _ them.

But there's probably no cup in New York, either. There is a captaincy, though, and a team he loves, and familiarity. And, John adds, Sam knows the team. Sam treats Ryan Strome like a son, even though he's only a few years younger than Sam is. 

So John calls his agent back. Nashville, Tampa, or New York. He wants to see if he can get an A in Nashville or Tampa.

 

He cannot get an A in Tampa. He goes outside and has a long talk with Steven.

 

John tells him that he wants to not think for a little bit. He says it with his head in Sam's lap, as they only kind of watch a cabled, censored  _ Die Hard.  _ Sam's hands are in John's hair, and Sam's thinking about how much he likes it when John doesn't gel it, when it's soft in his fingers. In the summer, it gets lighter, and Sam can see the auburn in it. 

He is so beautiful to Sam.

John's vows were much better than Sam's. Sam had done really well in English, all through out high school, and John's vows were better. John had barely finished high school. It was all very embarrassing. It's just - it's not easy to put into words, how John makes him feel. It's just  _ warm _ . It's like coming home, it's like laundry out of the dryer, it's hot coffee in January. Sam just couldn't word it, the way John looked at him sometimes, like he just wanted to swallow Sam whole, and how it made Sam blush, and Sam never blushes. But John was also the one who carried Sam to bed when Sam had a little too much to drink, his head knocking against John's chest as he padded up the stairs. He took care of Sam. He kissed the spot on Sam's neck that made him go wiggly. So Sam's vows had ended up being  _ I love you so much. I promise I'm going to love you so much forever.  _ And then he sat down.

"I just want to be with you," John says, eyes honest and wide, and Sam has to look away, because if Sam looks at him for too long, he shivers.

"Let's not think for a while," Sam says after a minute, and then he follows John to their bed.

John fucks Sam slowly, the kind of afternoon summer sex with the overhead fan spinning and the TV on downstairs. Sam's on top of him, his legs bracketing John. John's hands are on his hips, his waist, flighty and undecided. John's making a very cute face, and Sam giggles, then leans down to kiss him.

"I have such a hot husband," John whispers, looking up at Sam with a disbelieving grin.

"Oh my God," Sam says, looking away, because John still makes him nervous sometimes.

 

John likes saying  _ husband.  _ He works it into conversation all the time. Sam goes to some of the Islanders' events when he can swing it, and John always introduces him as  _ my husband, Sam Gagner,  _ because he likes the way it sounds. Then he says it to the waiter,  _ my husband doesn't like tomatoes, can you put lettuce on the sandwich instead,  _ to the barista,  _ my husband wants skim milk.  _

Sam would be lying if he said he didn't do the same. When it snows in Columbus, he wears his Islanders knitted cap everywhere, even if he gets a few dirty looks from Blue Jackets fans in the grocery store.

 

It starts raining after they finish, a lazy, grey drizzle over the neighborhood. It'll pass quickly, as summer rain usually does. They watch it from the bay window in the living room, as it pours over the backyard. The olive tree by the fire pit looks happy to have it.

"I think about that tree when I miss you," Sam tells John.

"Yeah?" He grins, looking at Sam.

They bought the house on their one year anniversary. It was too big for two people barely into their twenties, three stories and brand new, with a pool and a massive backyard. They'd been so excited. And from May until September, it was awesome - they woke up, had sex, ate breakfast, had sex again, worked out, ate lunch, saw friends, ate dinner, then had sex again until they fell asleep. 

Sam had to leave first. He was trying out for the Blue Jackets, and had his apartment waiting for him in Columbus. He had to go, had to prove himself. And so it was only John in the new house, and Sam could tell he was lonely, because he called Sam four times a day and drove to Columbus every Friday morning, and drove home on Monday mornings. They were barely engaged. It was hard.

And then John left a month later, on a plane back to New York. That was even harder. No more weekends.

Then they both had Christmas off, and John suggested they go back to Oakville. Sam jumped. Columbus was fucking  _ cold _ , and really fucking lonely, and Oakville had always been this, like, beacon of warmth, of happiness, of  _ John.  _ Oakville was all that and more. Because now there was the olive tree.

John'd planted it the day after Sam left for Ohio. He told Sam about digging, about researching the tree. Olive trees, he'd whispered with his lips against Sam's neck and his arms around Sam's waist, were pretty cool. They lived for thousands of years, and they were almost impossible to kill. 

The  _ just like us _ went unsaid, but Sam heard it anyways.

"I think about it, too," John says after a minute, still looking out at the tree with arms crossed over his chest. "I think how fucking gone I am on you, to  _ plant _ my feelings. I went out into the yard and stuck a shovel in some dirt because I missed my fiancé."

He's saying it with a self-deprecating lilt, but Sam knows that smile. That smile says he'd plant Sam a whole forest.

 

John chooses Nashville in the end, because they offer him the A and a no-movement clause in his contract. John calls P.K. after he tells his management his decision, and P.K. demands to be put on speakerphone, because he wants to tell Sam how excited he is to have  _ him  _ there, and John can come too, if he wants. The two of them have grown a lot, John and P.K., but put them together, and they're eighteen again.

(And truthfully, Sam wanted Nashville the whole time. He thinks John does better with warmer weather, and that P.K. is always going to have his back, and that Nashville seems like a nice place to raise a kid.)

Sam doesn't tell him any of that, because John already knows. Sam just kisses John once, and asks if he wants to get started on dinner. John nods, and he seems quietly happy, even if Sam sees the frowny-face Ryan Strome had texted him over John's shoulder.

They make pasta together, with their phones turned off on the other side of the room. Sam knows his mom will call, probably even before John's mom will call, and John knows he's going to have to talk to a lot of media, but that's for tomorrow. For now, John's going to make the pasta too  _ al dente _ , and Sam will eat it anyways, because he loves John and this is John's day.

And then they'll go to bed, and they'll have sex, and Sam will look up some adoption agencies in the morning. Because Nashville seems like a pretty good place to raise a kid. 

John fall asleep first, and Sam will wrap himself around him, and feel the slow, steady up-down of his chest, and John will whisper something about Sam's teeth in his sleep, and Sam will go to bed grinning.

 

They come back to Oakville after getting knocked out of the playoffs, making it to the Western Conference final and no further. John doesn't complain - it's the furthest he's gone in any Stanley Cup final in a long while. And next year, they'll be even better.

They come back to Oakville with their son. Charlie Tavares is a month old and he has Sam's sense of humor. John is thrilled. John spends hours every afternoon with Charlie snoozing on his chest, watching NHL highlights on mute as he talks to Sam softly about Sam's day.

John is a Good Dad. He never makes Sam get up in the middle of the night when Charlie starts crying, and he has a monopoly on diapers. It's easy, though, because Charlie's so good. He's sweet and giggly and doesn't cry much at all. P.K. is named godfather, which he accepts with minimal de Niro jokes.  

And John is still a Very Good Husband. His smile still gets all lopsided when he realizes he's woken up next to Sam. He whistles appreciatively when Sam gets dressed up for Preds stuff. And when Sam holds Charlie, John gets all gooey, and one time John actually cried, seeing Sam hold their son.

Charlie loves hockey, John decides. He's only been to two games at Bridgestone, and he was bundled up in a bright yellow Tavares jersey with headphones over his ears, but he loved watching. And John got a hat trick one time, when Sam and Charlie were there, and he waved up to them in their box. All the announcers and sports writers keep talking about  _ dad strength _ , and Sam thinks there might be some truth in that.

So Charlie comes to Oakville. He's too little to understand how much love is in this house, but he'll know someday. He blinks around, at the bright lights, at his brand new nursery, at the olive tree. Sam thinks about him taking his first, tentative steps in this house. John's thinking about putting up a rink in the backyard, so he and Sam can practice together in the off-season, and Charlie can learn at home. 

John has plans. He's always had plans. Sam's always been in them. Now Charlie is, too. But for now there's the house in Oakville, and the off-season, and a pretty house in suburban Nashville waiting for them in September. John sleeps hard year-round. John loves Sam. John still looks at Sam like he's heaven, like he's a perfect thing, like he's an olive tree.

Sam would be lying if he said he didn't do the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Best buds from suburban Toronto turn into best buds who are married and summer in suburban Toronto!
> 
> I hope you all like it!


End file.
